2025.11.19 Watching You Breathe

Dear Dexter Lord of Destruction (aka: Muppet, Muppet Feet, Monkey, Monkey Butt, Fuzz Butt, Nugget, Tootles, Tootle Butt, Screamy McBarkington, Sir Tootles McFartington, Sir Tootles of Moonlit Stream, Pickles, Noodle, Little Man),

A little over fifteen years ago, you stormed into my life. A coworker had fostered you after you were dumped at Dirty Dog Dog Wash & Groomers & quickly realized she didn’t have enough time to devote to you between both work & school. You were about 12 weeks old & maybe 10lbs. I told her I would take you to foster. I got you home and introduced you to Mason, my 95lb lab/pit mix, and my cat Griffin. You and Mason were fast friends, and after about 5 minutes (& you getting hilariously stuck under my duvet), I realized I had another dog. You and Griffin took a little longer to acclimate, but she grew to love you. You would curl up on the dog bed together, but she still got pissed when you drank out of “her” water bowl & would clank it in retaliation. 

Dexter was your name when you arrived. The “Lord of Destruction” part came later. God, you loved chewing shit up. Your preferred delicacies were shoes and my bra straps that you’d dig out of my laundry basket. You would usually only chew one shoe - and let me tell you, nothing pisses me off more than having to throw away one good shoe. But you did give me a delightful pair of peep-toe boots (my favorite pair!). Bras? Both straps. And they weren’t “buy off the rack at Target” bras. I wanted to murder you, but you were so damn cute.

One of your favorite things was walks, especially through tall grass that would tickle your belly - bonus points if it was wet! Which is so amusing, because if it rained, you didn’t want to get your fancy feet wet outside, so you’d poop right in front of the dog door. 

A few of your other favorites were food (ALL THE FOOD), and scream-barking until you got said food. Food in your bowl: eat. Treats: play with for a full 3.2 minutes before you’d eat them. You also loved your clothes - hoodies, sweaters, scarves. And your grooming “spa days” - you were bougie beyond belief, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

You loved being snuggled, but you didn’t love being picked up. You would point your little dog-sticks out in front of you like you were about to dive off a swimming board. Sometimes I’d pick you up just so I could see you do that because it made me laugh, even on the worst days. And I think you just humored me. When you’d sleep on your back, you liked to do what I called “the Heisman” - one foot curled in, one foot straight out. You were so damn cute.

I will forever miss the way you’d lie right in front of the dog door with your head sticking out, letting the hot air in & cold air out (or vice versa), just giving the outside world an overview. I will forever miss you being always in the kitchen when I’m cooking, under my desk when I’m working, or curled up next to me on the couch, because you always wanted to be touching me. You were more than a “velcro dog” - you were my little living, breathing security blanket.

When you started slowing down, we couldn’t go on long walks like we used to, but you still loved getting out there. I realized there was more time behind us than in front of us, and I wanted to do everything I could to make sure your remaining years were the best they could be. I completely fucked myself by cooking you chicken after we ran out of your prescription wet food, and that became the routine. Steamed chicken and veggies for you (and Nelson, so he wouldn’t feel left out) once a week. 

A couple of years ago, you were diagnosed with kidney disease and a heart murmur. In October, we learned it had progressed to Stage 3…out of 4. In the last few weeks, you stopped wanting to eat much at all. Brent & I did everything we could to bribe you - chicken, tuna, ground beef. You’d take a few bites, then turn your nose up. Nelson became your clean-up crew. And in an incredibly fucking cruel twist of fate, you got dementia towards the end. Brent and I would take you into the yard, and you’d just stand there - staring at nothing. You stopped knowing how to move your little feet, and you didn’t have much balance. 

I would walk into whatever room you were in, and just watch you breathe. I kept thinking every breath might be your last. As much as I didn’t want you to die without me by your side, I didn’t want to have to make that decision. On the last day, you’d had a bad night. I got up with you at 4am and never went back to sleep. But you did. You slept until 10am. I kept checking on you. Still breathing, although shallow. It had been 6 hours since you’d been out. I tried to wake you up. I tried for about 2 minutes. You were the dog who always responded when being petted - with your little tongue sticking out because you only had 14 teeth left (one of your most endearing qualities). But when you didn’t wake up until I physically picked you up (which you never liked), I knew. I knew you were tired. I knew you were ready. And I was so pissed that you were so goddamn stubborn and were forcing us to make this decision, because you would have stayed until the end of days, because you were (and forever will be) my ride-or-die. 

At the end, I’m grateful we were with you. I’m grateful we got to love you when you took your last breath. I’m grateful for you, my little man, for saving my life more times than you could possibly know. As Brent said, we were able to give you the gift we couldn't give my mom.

I will forever miss watching you breathe.